


Bitches and Hoes

by TripleX_Tyrant



Category: South Park
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Love-hate - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5145689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TripleX_Tyrant/pseuds/TripleX_Tyrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now juniors in high school, Wendy has trouble with the newest member of the yearbook club. Things get heated in the conference room when Cartman makes Wendy confront the true nature of their messy relationship. But Wendy is dating Stan, and he's way better than Cartman, right? (Candy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitches and Hoes

**Author's Note:**

> I love Candy, don't you? I have a lot of thoughts on how I imagine their relationship to develop, including it starting off very rocky and not necessarily healthy. That's where this story idea came from. Enjoy!

The conference room of Park County High School was shared between many of the school's groups, but today it was reserved for the yearbook staff. The head of the yearbook staff had called for an emergency meeting. Not for the entire staff (which at this small school only consisted of eleven people), but instead only a meeting between herself and the newest member, for he had already proven himself to be more trouble than he was worth. The slick, brown table was too large and fancy for the mismatch of folding and computer chairs that surrounded it, but it showed that at least some faculty member had tried to make the room look official. Wendy Testaburger sat at the end of the table nearest the door in one of the small, metal folding chairs. She had intended for Cartman to sit here, but he instead took the opposite end with the plush computer chair where Wendy was planning to sit. It was infuriating whenever he managed to take the position of power.

“Do you enjoy making my job difficult?” Wendy asked, hands clasped on the table in front of her.

“Not at all. If anything, I want to help you by taking on more responsibility. If you would entrust me with more tasks, I'm sure I would surprise you with how efficient your job would go,” Cartman replied, leaning casually back in his nice chair, one ankle resting on his knee, fingers touched together in front of his chest.

Wendy sat up as straight as she could in her little metal chair. “I never gave you the task of adding asterisks to all the names of the gay students!” She took a deep breath, knowing that getting so worked up so soon would only cause trouble. “Now I have to track them all down and delete them.”

“Hey, I'm just trying to give everyone the information they really want. Do you think anyone really gives two shits about which senior is best dressed? I know I don't.”

“You put one by my name, too,” Wendy reminded. “Do you realize how many times my name appears in the yearbook?”

“Yes. Eight,” Cartman stated. “Junior class picture, junior class officer, yearbook staff, library aide, Earth Club, Debate Team, and two candid shots.”

Not expecting such a direct response, Wendy stammered, “Well... So I have to delete eight asterisks for sure. God knows how many others you put in there. I'm not even gay!”

“Oh really? Huh, that's odd,” Cartman said, placing a finger on his chin. “I could have sworn... Oh, but don't gays only bang other gays?”

“What are you talking about?” Wendy sighed.

“Stan.”

Wendy furrowed her brow. Of course she knew what he was talking about, but she didn't want to acknowledge it. “I'm not banging Stan. He's my boyfriend, and I'm deleting the asterisks by his name, too.”

“So you're not banging?”

With a roll of the eyes, Wendy looked away and replied, “Of course we are, but... That's really none of your business. I know what you're trying to do, but Stan is not gay.”

Cartman sighed. “Poor Wendy. Trying so hard to hang onto a relationship she knows is empty. There is no sincerity. No love. She holds desperately onto Stan's left hand while his right hand is busy gripping Kyle's...”

“What the hell do you know about love, fat-ass?!” Wendy shouted, smacking her palms down onto the table and raising to her feet.

“...Dick,” Cartman finished. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, Wendy with a glare and Cartman with a smug smirk. Finally, Cartman broke the silence. “I'm just sayin', ho. No need to be a bitch about it.”

Wendy removed her hands from the table, leaving steam prints that faded as she circled the table. She stomped her foot in front of Cartman and pointed to the door. “Leave,” she commanded.

“The fuck? I thought you wanted help.”

“No, just get out of here. Go home. I don't even know why I agreed to let you join yearbook in the first place. You obviously only joined to be a pain in the ass.”

With a scoff, Cartman stood and walked toward the door, stopping once he reached the end of the table where Wendy had sat. He turned back to her and said, “I really am just trying to help you.”

“You're trying to help yourself,” she corrected.

“True,” Cartman replied. Then, with a thought he said, “Well. But what if he was gay?”

At that, a switch flipped in Wendy, and she charged at him, shoving him as best she could toward the door. “Jesus, Cartman. What the fuck? Don't even. Don't you fucking even. Just get over... Just... Leave it alone.”

“Wendy... Don't you think about those times?”

“No I don't,” Wendy replied. “Because I have a boyfriend. I regret everything.”

“Wendy,” Cartman said softly, touching her cheek.

She recoiled and whacked his arm away. “No,” she said firmly.

“I've heard that one before,” Cartman smirked.

Wendy covered her face and growled into her palms. When she removed her hands, her face was flushed. “Well maybe you should start listening to me.”

“Oh I am. And all I can do is wonder what you mean by it.”

“I mean no!” Wendy shouted. She pursed her lips. She didn't need anyone in the hallway to hear her, and she definitely didn't need Cartman to make her lose control.

“Is that a rape victim no?” he asked, raising a single eyebrow, “or a Wendy no?”

Wendy clenched her fists. She knew what she should say, but she also knew what she felt like saying. She had Stan, she reminded herself. They were perfect together, and everybody agreed. They had known each other since elementary school and were even as much of a couple as third to fifth graders could be. So of course when they hooked back up in high school, everyone thought they must be destined for one another. They had the same hair and eyes, so of course everyone always talked about how beautiful their children would be. They were both good students (or at least Stan was okay). Nobody would ever object. And yet, Wendy could not ignore the fact that her heart raced more just trying to talk to Cartman than it did fucking Stan. It's just adrenaline, Wendy told herself. And adrenaline isn't anything. It isn't love. Hell, it isn't even true attraction. It isn't. Right?

“I don't know,” Wendy finally responded, staring at the floor.

But Cartman did know. Suddenly, Cartman grabbed her arm, yanked her to himself, and before she had time to react, his tongue was in her mouth. She punched his chest and tried to pull away, but he just pulled her closer again and again. Even Wendy knew that she wasn't really fighting. It was the sloppiest kiss in the world as their tongues swirled and meshed and lapped almost angrily at each other's lips and cheeks. Anyone else would be sure that they had no idea what they were doing, but at that moment, they were far too enthralled to care about appearances.

Wendy leaned into Cartman, pressing harder against him the more she fought with herself. She knew how she was acting was wrong. It wasn't fair to Stan. It wasn't fair to Cartman. But she couldn't make herself stop. She wanted to kiss him until it hurt. In a bout of frustration, Wendy bit down hard on Cartman's jaw, leading him to shove her off of himself. She stumbled back into the table and gripped the edge as she caught her breath. She wiped her sleeve across her face while Cartman rubbed his jaw. He wiped his mouth as well, and when he lowered his arm, Wendy could see the pale lines of deep teeth marks. Suddenly, Cartman furrowed his brow and shoved her against the table, pinning her. Cartman's large hands held hers down on the table top, her butt pressing against the edge. Again, he mashed his face against hers, and the two resumed where they had left off.

Once they finally broke apart, they were huffing and puffing for air, both of them absolutely radiating. A bit awkwardly, Wendy cleared her throat and looked into Cartman's eyes, just as mad as her own, and said, “Wendy no.”

Cartman smirked. “After all that, it better be.” He dropped his smile, stood back, and allowed his eyes to travel over Wendy's body as she stood before him flustered and out of breath. He reared his arm back and back-handed Wendy across the face.

Wendy put her hand to her cheek, her mouth gaped and panting. She looked back to Cartman. He stood over her, not as tall as Stan but much more powerful. She gulped, knowing what she was asking for. It was uncouth, but she wanted so badly for him to ravage her, and Cartman had just every such intention. They had both been pent up for too long, and every moment together made it worse. He grabbed her hips and lifted her butt onto the table before undoing her pants and tugging them down. She lifted her butt and clumsily kicked her shoes off to allow him to tear her pants off. He threw them to the floor before unbuttoning his own.

With one hand, he grabbed Wendy's waist to lead her to flip around. He knew that she had seen him before, but Cartman had never gotten over his TMI results or his pissed off and angry attitude that resulted from it, so he preferred her not to watch as he exposed himself. Now, Wendy's knees ached as they pressed bare against the table top, but her exposed backside ached even more in want. The screech of Cartman sliding the metal chair closer made her jump, her sudden fear reminding her that she was doing something she shouldn't be. She thought of Stan and felt guilty. But Cartman didn't allow her to think about him long when he slapped his palms on her butt cheeks to support himself while he stepped onto the chair.

Now standing level with Wendy, he stroked his fingers around her thighs, tracing a frame around the outside of her lips. He was mesmerized by the view of her beautiful pale skin and pink lips. Her slit glistened, and as if drawn to it, Cartman stroked his finger up it. Wendy twitched at the unexpected contact, and Cartman could see her muscles tighten. He gripped his penis and held in a groan. “Look at this,” he chuckled to regain himself. “You're soaking wet, ho.”

“Fuck you,” she snapped, but before she could turn to look at him, Cartman grabbed the back of her head and held it forward.

“Oh you will,” he said, positioning himself at her entrance and sliding his head up and down her slick opening. As he pushed himself slowly inside, he wrapped his fingers in Wendy's lovely black locks until he had his full length sheathed. Pulling out again, he released a shaky exhale. He let her hair fall from his fingers and onto her shoulders like a thin waterfall before sliding his hands up her sides to push her shirt and jacket up. Then, he ran his palms back down until he was gripping her hips, and forcibly he slammed into her again.

At that second thrust, Wendy gasped. Her head spun as he slammed into her again and again. Slowly, Cartman would pull out only to quickly thrust himself back in. All the while, Wendy's vision blurred as she panted and salivated. Cartman groped hungrily at her butt and hips and back, and Wendy attempted to grip onto something, anything, but she could only scratch at the table top. She realized that whatever bit of dignity she might have had before she ended up on her hands and knees, tongue out like a dog, was gone.

“Ass-hole,” she moaned. Suddenly, Cartman's thrusts sped up, and he returned her insult with one good scratch down her pretty, slender back. She hissed and shoved herself back against Cartman, the tingle of the scratch traveling across her whole body.

“You're the one... who wanted this... you fucking slut,” Cartman panted, trying with all of his might to keep from going over the edge. By now, Wendy's juices were dripping onto the table. Cartman glided in and out easily. He shook his head, then slapped Wendy on the butt, causing her to tighten a great deal.

The next thrust was extremely powerful, hitting Wendy in a sweet spot and forcing a cross between a cry and moan to expel from her mouth. Instantly, she slapped her hand over her mouth, totally shocked at herself. Never had she been the type to call out like that. Even with Stan, the only vocal sounds that she made were intentional because she figured she was supposed to vocalize for him. She never blamed Stan. She simply had too much self control to be... Primal. Until now. The silence of the room mocked her.

Of course, Wendy had no idea how strongly her call had affected Cartman. Hearing Wendy's sweet voice call out so candidly and knowing he had been the one to cause it made his gut tighten and his head tingle. He slammed his eyes shut and watched the disturbing images to keep from going over. He groaned, leaning over Wendy and slipping his hands over her breasts, squeezing one particularly hard.

Wendy winced. “Too much,” she whined quietly. Surprisingly, Cartman released his grip and gently stroked her soft, plump breast. Her erect nipples sent shock-waves through her every time he slid across one. She really did have killer titties, he thought to himself. Lovingly and gently, Cartman let his hands travel over her body. He remained stationary inside of her, and many times Wendy tightened uncontrollably around Cartman's throbbing member. It was a task to remain still for both of them, and when Cartman finally forced himself to pull out, she felt cheated.

She looked behind herself curiously. Cartman gazed at her with an open mouth, his face ruddy and sweating just like she was sure hers was. His slathered dick hung red and purple, and all she could wonder was how on Earth Cartman could be so much smaller than Stan and yet pound her and fill her with more passion than Stan could imagine. She didn't know why or how, but he looked insanely attractive to her despite the fat and sweat. She was sure that there was something wrong with her brain.

Again, Cartman placed his hands on Wendy's hips, leading her to turn onto her butt. She hadn't noticed until she sat down in her cold juices just how dripping wet she had become. Cartman stepped off the chair and wrapped his arms around her, his hand cupping the back of her head, and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He pulled her shirt up again and kissed each perked nipple. Looking into her eyes, he took her arm in his hand and lifted it above her head. He kissed the small remnants of scar tissue on the side of her breast from where she had gotten implants so many years ago. Wendy squeezed Cartman's sides with her legs. She almost could not stand him being so kind to her. Not because she didn't like it, but because it made her feel overwhelmed and unable to react properly.

Cartman smiled, still a bit smugly Wendy noticed, and stepped back up onto the chair so that Wendy's legs wrapped against his hips. Wendy stroked his forearm alluringly as she lay back onto the table. With some initial struggle at the awkward angle (Wendy being a bit too low now), Cartman slid inside once again. Sighing in unison at the missed sensation, Cartman proceeded to hump, this time much more rhythmically. He was now leaning over Wendy, keeping one hand and one elbow on the table for support as he breathed onto her neck, taking in her scent. It was better than fried chicken and Oreos and powdered donut pancake surprise all put together. It was Wendy's own secret scent, and it drove him to a different level of crazy than normal.

Wendy writhed beneath Cartman, trying to buck her hips into his thrusts. Her heart swelled nearly to bursting. All this time, she believed that the biggest difference between Stan and Cartman's techniques was the amount of force each boy used. But here Cartman was, being as gentle as could be and yet still filling Wendy dangerously close to the point of overflowing in so many ways. She was confused. She couldn't believe it. But when he turned his head up and she gazed into his dark eyes, she couldn't deny it. She was making love to Cartman.

Wendy buried her face in Cartman's brown hair. “Eric,” she moaned. She placed her hands on his broad shoulders. “You're not an ass-hole.”

Cartman shifted in his chair, attempting to lower himself more to be fully engulfed by Wendy. Hearing his name so sweetly from her almost hurt. He felt that he didn't deserve it. He couldn't calm himself as his eyes, wide and bewildered at the situation that he didn't deserve, darted all over Wendy's tensed and sweating body. He cupped Wendy's face in his hand, covering the cheek that he had hit.

“I am an ass-hole,” he replied, his throat nearly closing up on him. He was almost out of breath now. “You're not a slut.” He stroked the hair that clung to her cheek. “Or a whore.”

Wendy moaned and squeezed his shoulders. “A.. And you're not stupid,” she admitted, gasping and tightening all over. “You're... Hah. Too conniving to be.”

“Wendy...”

“Ah. E-Eric.”

“You're beautiful. Fuck,” Cartman groaned. “I-I'm gonna...”

“Me too. P-please. Make me cum.”

They bucked into each other again and again, panting and moaning softly though barely able to contain themselves. More and more, they needed each other. Cartman's knees grew weaker the nearer he built toward climax, and he was done with feeling so far away. He brought one knee onto the table and wrapped his arms around Wendy. She had to wriggle a bit to let him around her. Then, he brought his other leg up, now as deep inside as he could get. Their breath grew hot and moist on one another's ear and neck. Again, Wendy let a cry spill out. Then something gave.

With a crack, the leg of the table folded under, and the table came crashing down, along with Cartman and Wendy. With a horrible thud, they were on the floor.

Cartman groaned. “Are you okay?” he asked, climbing off of Wendy and pulling her up. He rubbed his elbow and looked at the collapsed table. The prominent steam print of Wendy's butt and back faded very slowly.

“I'm fine,” Wendy replied pulling her shirt and jacket down. Then suddenly, she dove for her pants. “Crap,” she spat, yanking her jeans out from under the table and cramming her legs into them.

Cartman, getting the idea, put himself away and buttoned up. Wendy was still patting her hair down when the door flew open.

“What was that?” asked Bebe in the doorway. It had completely slipped Wendy's mind that she had chosen to talk to Cartman on the same day that the cheerleaders were making posters for homecoming, because she thought that having Bebe nearby would keep her from letting her hormones get the better of her. Well, it hadn't slipped her mind so much as she was only now feeling bad about it. Bebe saw the broken table. “Oh my God. Was there a fight?”

“No, no,” Wendy replied, “it just...” She quickly took her eyes away from the table when she saw that the steam print had only faded enough to reveal the liquid on the table. She locked eyes with Bebe in hopes of keeping her from looking at it too closely. “Fell suddenly,” she finished, peeking at Cartman and furrowing her brow to see him staring wide-eyed at their mess. That was when she noticed that her bite mark had turned a brownish yellow on his jaw. She seriously hoped that nobody would question it.

“You didn't get hurt, did you?” Bebe asked.

Wendy waved her hand and said, “I'm fine.” At that moment, Wendy's phone went off and she jumped. With a short, awkward laugh, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and, after biting her lip at the screen, answered. “Hey, hi Stan,” she said with a slight waver in her voice. “No, I'm not busy.” She turned away from the other two as she spoke.

Picking his binder and books up from the floor and shoving his hand in his pocket, Cartman walked out of the room. Bebe didn't know why, but he looked very upset to her.

“Okay, I'll come right over. ...Uh-huh. Love you, too.” Wendy put her phone back in her pocket and turned around. “Where'd Cartman go?”

“He just left. What does Stan want?”

“Sorry Bebe,” Wendy said, grabbing her backpack and scrambling for the door, “I gotta go.” Just before she ran out of the room, she turned around and snatched her shoes up from in front of the table, giving Bebe a sheepish grin as she ran out the door.

“Wait,” Bebe called, “What about the table?” But Wendy was gone. Bebe scratched her head and shrugged before returning to the hallway with the other cheerleaders.

Wendy found Cartman walking down the road leading away from the school. “Hey Eric,” she called, running up to him.

He flinched, then turned around and said, “What's up?”

She was relieved to see that he was smiling. She was sure that he would be upset about Stan calling. “Well, nothing. Just... Look, I have to go to Stan's. And I know how horrible it sounds, but...”

“Hey I getcha,” Cartman grinned. “Can't let Stan know his girlfriend is a two-timing whore.” He laughed obnoxiously.

Wendy scowled. “It's good to know you think this is all just a game. Some people actually have feelings, ass-hole!”

“And you obviously need to learn to control yours, ho.”

“Whatever!” Wendy snapped. “I don't even know why I try to be nice to you! You're so stupid!” With that, she marched ahead with a scowl stuck to her face. It wasn't fair that she had to battle with herself and feel guilty for caring so much about Cartman and Stan if Cartman could just laugh about it. He had no idea how mixed up and disgusted with herself she was for cheating. He didn't have to make her feel more like a whore than she already did. Besides, he was the one who came onto her all the time.

Cartman stood and watched as Wendy marched further and further away before dropping his grin. He sighed and continued walking slowly. Why did he have to go and call Wendy names like that, he wondered. He just didn't know what else to do. The feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy didn't go away when he laughed and ridiculed, but the harder he laughed, the less hurt he appeared to be. And allowing Wendy to get close just to see her run off again meant he had to make more jokes. Because he really wanted Wendy, and he kept making himself believe that she could feel the same. After all, she was the one who kept coming onto him.

Maybe, Cartman thought, he'd go make Kyle feel miserable for a little bit.


End file.
